The Evolution of Elves

Let’s talk elves. Not the North Pole kind (that could be a whole other article, but best saved for Christmas). I’m talking about the tall, ethereal, flawless beings that strolled into pop culture via J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. They’ve since been rebranded, rebooted, and emotionally wrecked by the world of modern YA fiction.
    Back in the day, Tolkien gave us elves who were a little intimidating. Immortal. Elegant. Wiser than your therapist. They lived in forest dreamworlds, spoke in Elvish (which, yes, Tolkien actually invented and big kudos to him), and had this quiet, tragic aura like they were constantly reflecting on a memory from 3,000 years ago.
    They were beautiful, powerful, and sort of untouchable. They remind me of the literary equivalent of that one friend who somehow looks good in every candid photo and has read The Silmarillion twice. Then the 2000s Said: “Let’s Make ‘Em Hotter and Moodier”
    Bring on the YA boom, and the elves weren’t just noble beings who whispered to trees. They were angsty, battle-scarred, and often shirtless. YA authors took Tolkien’s blueprint and added a hefty dose of emotional damage, intense romantic tension, and some very sharp cheekbones.
    Modern elves became immortal heartthrobs with swords and baggage. They’re usually caught between two worlds, hiding a dark secret, or trying to navigate some messy love triangle while also saving a kingdom. And you know what? I love that for them. If you’re looking for YA fantasy with elves that bring the drama, here are a few must-reads:

    Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas: Yes, there’s a certain point in the series where elves (or rather, Fae) enter the chat, and let’s just say things get intense. Lots of brooding, lots of longing, and plenty of plot twists.
    The Iron Fey by Julie Kagawa: A classic. Think faeries, court politics, and a moody winter prince who might stab you or write you poetry, depending on the day.
    An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson: A standalone that mixes fae lore with art, beauty, and the uncomfortable reality of immortality. The main elf dude? Peak mysterious forest man energy.
    A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas (again): Yeah, she kinda cornered the market on emotionally complicated Fae boys. If you’ve been online anytime in the past five years, you’ve probably heard the buzz.
    The Bitterbynde Trilogy by Cecilia Dart-Thornton: If you want that dreamy, old-school vibe with lush prose and classic high fantasy elves, this one’s a bit of a hidden gem.
    Honestly, the list could go on forever. Elves in YA are like eyeliner in high school: dramatic, everywhere, and somehow always smudged in a good way.

    But What About My Elves?

    I’m super glad you asked! 🙂 Okay, so here’s something else exciting: I have a project sitting in my “maybe someday” (big GTD fan here) folder that has elves in it. (Plot twist, right?)
    It’s one of those ideas that’s been knocking around in my head for a while, like it’s waiting for me to get my act together. But there’s a weird little twist I’ve been on the fence about: whether or not to include a Leprechaun in the mix.
    And not just any Leprechaun. I’m talking about a very cranky, semi-alcoholic one who may or may not be hiding from the consequences of some extremely questionable life choices. He’d be the kind of character who shows up uninvited, drinks all your whiskey, insults your ancestors, and then casually drops a piece of life-changing magical wisdom before stumbling off to fight a goat or something.
    He doesn’t quite fit with the brooding, elegant elf aesthetic. But that is exactly why I kind of love the idea of throwing him in. Like, imagine all the tension between a refined, immortal elven diplomat and this loud, disheveled gremlin of a creature who keeps trying to pawn off cursed gold and start bar fights. The contrast would be epic.
    But I haven’t fully committed to him yet. Part of me wonders if adding a chaotic Leprechaun is one step too far into weird fantasy comedy territory. And another part of me (the part that thrives on wacky side characters — TOM, the android in The Last Planet being the most extreme example) is like, “No, do it. Let him be the feral wildcard your story doesn’t know it needs.” I haven’t decided whether to dive in and make it a full thing. Part of me wonders if elves have already been done to death… but another part? Kinda wants to put my spin on it. Less Tolkien, more messy friendships, awkward humor, and morally questionable decisions.
    Elves have stuck around for a reason. Whether they’re mystical and distant like Tolkien’s originals or messy and magnetic like your average YA protagonist, they offer this strange mix of escapism and reflection. They let us imagine beauty, power, and longevity — but also force us to confront what it means to live that long, to be different, to carry all that history.
    So if you’re working on an elf story too, or have one buried somewhere in your notes app, half-formed and full of potential, maybe this is your moment: Maybe it’s time to give it a shot. Or at least let your moody elf prince out for some fresh air. And hey, if a cranky Leprechaun with a hip flask and a grudge against modern plumbing shows up along the way? Just roll with it. Worst case, he steals your boots. Best case, he steals the whole scene.